


Knight in a Dirty Trenchcoat

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Challenges, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Renaissance Era, Renaissance Faire, Sam's POV, Sword Fighting, Team Fluff, Team Free Will, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Somethin’ funny?”</p><p>Sam watches in sheer amusement as Dean unlinks his hand from Cas’s to one-up the guy. “Alright, Understudy Wolverine, I’ll fight you, is that what you want?” </p><p>The Cockodile’s lips peel back, revealing a Manilla envelope smile fouler than the “privies” as he pivots to the half-packed stage behind him: “Lay-es an’ gentlemen, we ‘ave ourselves’a show!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knight in a Dirty Trenchcoat

 

“Oh my God, these are the best potato skins I’ve ever had.”

“Do you need a moment?”

Dean, hoarding the greasy contents in his mouth like a squirrel packing for winter, lets out an overzealous moan before replying, “Nah, I’m good.”

“Good, because those aren’t potato skins,” Sam laughs. He can visibly see Dean’s mouth, previously fornicating with the alien sustenance in his hands, give the “ _wham, bam, thank you, ma’am”_ speech without moving. Then, on a Winchester whim, shrugs and tosses the rest of the carcass into his mouth anyway.

Cas, who was convinced by his _everything_ disposal of a boyfriend to wear a musketeer costume, complete with a polished lance and milky sleeves rolled high enough for Dean’s liking, frowns. “I still don’t understand humans’ fascination for the past, particularly the Renaissance Era. All that disease and natural disaster and famine…”

“Which is exactly the kind of gig we got goin’ now,” Dean finishes before slotting a turkey leg between his teeth like a buttery cob corn. It certainly suits his outfit consisting of black velvet with imitation wolf fur behind a knee-length cape, a shield with the Men of Letters logo slapped on the front, and an iron helmet looking more like a failed science experiment with horns. “You know, minus the famine thing.”

“It’s the costume, Cas,” Sam chimes as a petite woman with a flouncing rack flirts her way through an excuse to pass him, “he just really, really likes the—” He flicks his gaze back to his brother, whose unending hunger defines the shape of Cas’s tongue. Sam smiles and picks up his feet only to catch sight of “ _PUPPIES!”_

Sam can feel Dean’s judgment weighing on him like a bad conscience, but they’re _greyhounds in chainmail,_ which makes the older brother a little bit more understanding.

That and Cas shoots out of Dean’s embrace like a bottle rocket to pet them too.

Once the puppy’s owners insist they keep moving, the three find themselves face-to-face with a bare-chested man sweatier than a doorknob during summer and an accent only fit for participating Outback Steakhouses: “Ay, what do wae ‘ave ay-urselves ‘ere, a coupla diggas?”

“What did you call me?” Dean asks, snapping his head to Sam with little conviction. “What did he call me?”

Sam shrugs as the bronzed gentleman plunges on: “You think you ‘ave wha ’t taykes to beat the _Cockodile?”_ Dean chokes back a laugh. “Somethin’ funny?”

Sam watches in sheer amusement as Dean unlinks his hand from Cas’s to one-up the guy. “Alright, Understudy Wolverine, I’ll fight you, is that what you want?”

The Cockodile’s lips peel back, revealing a Manilla envelope smile fouler than the “privies” as he pivots to the half-packed stage behind him: “Lay-es an’ gentlemen, we ‘ave ourselves’a show!”

**

Sam watches the scene pan out like someone who’s logged in one too many gaming hours.

Picking fights for a Winchester is like volunteer work on a job application—it’s a pain in the ass (and very _literally_ almost costs them an arm and a leg), but it’s a must in order to nail the gig. They’ve fought everything from humans to faeries and banshees to witches, but not once have they encountered a worthy contender.

Until today.

The Cockodile’s cardboard sword slaps Dean’s shield as Dean whips his own weapon across the man’s throat. The Cockodile’s faster, flogging Dean’s sword in a downward motion and sending it flying across the stage. The crowd belts a triumphant yell. Dean, whose face closely resembles a matured pimple at this point, swipes the object from the dirty parquet and lunges at the Cockodile again only for his chest to meet the end of the impressionist’s sword.

“Any las’ words, mayte?”

Dean scans the wide-eyed crowd before he rests on Cas. “Good game, man,” he says before standing up. Everyone, including Sam and Cas, erupts into applause as Dean produces pulps just shaking guy’s hand. 

The Cockodile tosses him a wry grin and says in his non-paying voice, only close enough to the stage that Sam and Cas can hear, “I’ll say, you’re one hell of a fighter, _mayte.”_

Dean hands his sword to the man as he hops off stage and journeys for another worthy opponent.

“Dude,” Sam laughs when Dean takes a seat, “you just got your ass handed to you by Crocodile Dundee.”

The elder Winchester scoffs, “What’re you talking about? I let him win.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

“Well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” the Cockodile blurts over the loudspeaker as he positions the mic in front of his next victim. “What’s your nayme, spunk?”

“Castiel. I’m a…” Cas glances down at his costume, “…musketeer of the Renaissance Era.”

Sam and Dean share a look that can’t be translated into Morse before Dean leans into Cas’s ear and murmurs, “Babe, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

“I will,” Sam hears Cas assert before squeezing Dean’s hand, “I’ll always defend your honor, Dean Winchester.”

“So,” the Cockodile says before Dean can properly blush, thrusting out his extra sword, “whataya say, mayte?”

Cas stands up, slides his lance into his scabbard, and graciously accepts the weapon of choice.

The fight starts innocent, swords _thwap_ ing and sliding off each other like soap, but Dean’s all in, yelling things like “That’s my man!” and, Sam’s personal favorite, “Hang his shrimp on the _bahr-bee_!” And even though, yes, he’s sunburnt from all the coupley crap, his heart’s swelled three times its size seeing Dean this happy.

The Cockodile goes for Cas’s side, which Cas doesn’t just block, but pushes their joint swords above their heads until the Cockodile staggers back. The crowd breathes a collective gasp, but the Cockodile is relentless. He lurches forward, swinging his sword across Cas’s head like a propeller. Cas effortlessly stoops down and swings for the Cockodile’s knee, to which he succeeds. The sweaty man lands with a resounding _thump_ on the plank with the dull point of Cas’s sword aimed at his throat.

Silence falls over the crowd. The only ones holding their hoots are the brothers Sam and Dean.

“Any last words, _mayte?_ ” Cas says, a smile tugging on his face.

The Cockodile gets to his feet and slaps Castiel with a handshake. “Crikey! I’m wetter than the Tasman!”

The three leave the auditorium with a dissonance of laughter and more praise than any hunt.

**

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, stopping his beau mid-stride. Half a dozen robust men in kilts throw scowls their way. Quickly, they’re replaced with sloppy grins and congratulatory pats on the back when they recognize Cas. “How did you do that back there? I mean, I could’ve sworn _I_ had a handle on the guy and I’ve been fighting monsters three times his size since I was _ten.”_

Cas smiles that big gummy smile Dean’s catching up on a lifetime of. “Dean, how easy of a fight did you think it was raising you from perdition?”

Sam doesn’t see them resurface for another hour, at least.

But that’s okay, because they have the same luck finding Sam.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Digger: soldier  
> Spunk: a very attractive man


End file.
